


Donut Disturb

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: John is the opposite of subtle about wanting Finch, and completely unrepentant.





	Donut Disturb

John pockets the hand lotion from Finch’s desk while the other man is engrossed in his screens. Just the weight of the bottle, dragging down one side of his jacket, makes something squirm in his chest. Stealing from Finch and getting away with it. Not getting away with it. Either way, he likes it.

It’s a slow day. He murmurs about finding something else to read. Harold nods without looking up, and John heads to the restroom with a spring in his step.

The first bottle he stole is tucked inside one of his new pairs of work shoes, unopened. He’s feeling a little braver today. And more impatient. He’s spent the last hour watching Finch consume the box of donuts he brought. Finch sucking sugar from his own thumb, then using this bottle to clean up before touching the keyboard again. John even likes how fastidious he is, how tidy. But he hasn’t yet noticed the crumbs on his tie and John isn’t going to tell him.

John walks past the sinks, mirrors and urinals. He steps into one of the stalls without locking the door behind him. Reaching into his pocket, John smiles at the lotion like it’s something fascinating. His thumbnail picks at a corner of the label, something he’s noticed Finch never does. It must annoy him. Maybe he’ll slot this back on the table when he’s done, wait for Finch to comment. No, that might be going too far. He’ll take this one home too, start a collection, all these little pieces of Finch until he can entice the real one to join him.

His cock twitches at that, and John reaches down to pinch it through his trousers, still turning the bottle around in his other hand. Has Finch ever used it for the purpose John is going to put it to? Somehow he doesn’t think so. Finch doesn’t make do. He has a separate high quality product for every function, like he has a different alias for each of his fields of expertise. The man loves to compartmentalize, which makes John want to shuffle the board, plant the wrong name tag at the wrong desk, just to have Harold unscramble the puzzle.

He’d gladly have Harold disorder his everything and piece him together again. Mold John into whatever he liked. John squeezes himself more firmly, leans back against the stall partition. It rattles kinda loud, reminds John he’s meant to be reading quietly. If he’s gonna do this…he unbuttons and untucks, flicking the lid off the bottle and getting his fingers wet. He needs a lot ‘cause it’ll dry out fast, but it’s unscented and it feels fantastic. He’s busy gritting his teeth, pulling long and slow and shivery, when the stall door swings open without his intervention.

John’s reflexes ought to have him kicking it shut in the face of the intruder, but it can only be Harold. His worldview faces a rapid split-second adjustment, and then his boss is staring at John with cock in hand. With an exaggeratedly delayed reaction, John turns his palm and stretches his fingers to cover himself. It isn’t easy. His cock’s not exactly shrinking at the sight of Harold, flushed and eyes like saucers.

“Out. Now.”

John presses his lips together, aware that he’s doing a bad job of suppressing a smile. He steps out of the stall. Lid back on, he holds out the lotion, with a wiggly gesture that says: here you go, this is yours. Harold doesn’t take it.

He doesn’t know what he expects to happen next. Perhaps he’ll be marched back into the library and lectured for a few hours. He’s prepared to remind Harold how few people would take on this crazy crusade of his, and there’s basically no-one alive who’d enjoy it as much as John.

But he doesn’t need any of that. Harold’s hands catch at John’s lapels and drag him around. Harold walks John backward until he’s perched on the counter between the sinks. John goes, unresisting. He has a feeling he’s about to get very, very lucky.

Harold shakes him. “I’m only human, John. There’s only so much teasing I can take.”

John registers that before walking in here, Harold took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He eyes Harold’s bare forearms. So lucky.

“That’s good to know. I was starting to think you’re a machine.” John grins at his own joke.

Harold’s eye roll is one for the record books. Then he pulls John to him, into a kiss that steals his breath and stops his words.


End file.
